


I should ink my skin with your name

by Pepperish



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Soulmate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 15:24:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6615721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pepperish/pseuds/Pepperish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: "Soulmate au where when you write something on your skin with pen/marker/whatever the hell you want, it will show up on your soul mates skin as well."</p><p> Or</p><p> Tattoos, assholes, greek/roman mythology and everything else that could make Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin soulmates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I should ink my skin with your name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheBashfulPoet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBashfulPoet/gifts).



> Prompt: "Soulmate au where when you write something on your skin with pen/marker/whatever the hell you want, it will show up on your soul mates skin as well."
> 
> To: Emily, The Bashful Poet
> 
> Hello there! Yay, I'm so excited to be finally posting this. I really lucked out when I received this amazing blogger to write to, tbh. Emily, your prompts were all awesome, things I felt really happy writing about, so I hope you enjoy this experience as much as I did - I'm still doing. I had such a nice time sending you anon messages and going through your blog, thank you for everything!
> 
> Now, about the prompt: As I said above, I chose the soulmate au. The premise is that the skin communication is not something one have since one is born, but something that starts happening when one is ready to meet their soulmates.
> 
> Now let's get to what's really important here ;)

  1. **Your fingertips are the colors of stars, explosions and heartbreak**



 

“Cute, O.” A very disgruntled – and very rumpled – Bellamy Blake comes into the kitchen, glass sliding down the bridge of his nose and what should maybe be a glare, but he’s still too sleepy to really pull it off. “Did I do something to you I’m not aware of?”

 

“What are you talking about, Bell?” She doesn’t look impressed, but in all honesty, looking supremely unimpressed is a Blake specialty.

 

“This.” He motions to his arms, both covered in paint, hues of bright blue, deep green and earthy browns, and Octavia’s eyes go wide. “Why the hell would you paint me while I _sleep_?”

 

“Bellamy.” She says his name carefully, a smile slowly creeping its way to her face. “I didn’t.”

 

“C’mon, O.” He groans. “Really? Who else would have fucking _painted on me_ –” Bellamy stops mid-sentence, finally catching up to her meaning. His sister is positively beaming at him.

 

“Wow, that’s something I thought I’d never see.” She says, a finger caressing mindlessly the tattoo on the inside of her wrist. “You have a soulmate, big brother.”

 

“Are you – Is this –”

 

“Are you speechless? I _need_ to get this on camera!”

 

“Shut up.” He retorts, grumpy, but Octavia’s teasing couldn’t wipe the grin curving his lips upwards.

 

 Later, he stares as the colorful smudges disappear from his skin with something aching to disappointment and tries not to imagine his soulmate (who’s probably showering right now and Bellamy really doesn’t want to be a creep). He holds a black marker between his fingers for solid twenty minutes before putting the cap back on and deciding to do it later, when he has a better idea of how to deal with it.

 

  1. **I gravitate around you like you’re the sun**



 

 There’s a terribly annoying itch on her forearm that’s been making really hard for Clarke to keep sleeping – which she definitely wants to keep doing. It’s not that she wasn’t expecting some degree of pain on her arm this morning, but it should be a familiar soreness on her newly abused deltoid, not a stupid scratch on her forearm.

 

 It takes her a while to catch up with what’s going on. She’s still half asleep – it was her birthday the day before and Clarke may or may not have overdone herself – when she finally forces herself to move, but the writing in stark, block black letters on her arm clears her head effectively.

 

  _Sunflowers, really? Please tell me this is not permanent._

 Fuck.

 

 Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck._

 

 All she could do was stare dumbfounded, trying to wrap her mind around the new development. Her shoulder _is_ a bit sore, Clarke realizes, the flesh still a little traumatized from where Lincoln had skillfully etched those incredible sunflowers onto her skin as her birthday present.

 

 Incredible sunflowers that are also resting on her soulmate’s skin.

 

 Clarke breaks out laughing, even though she’s more nervous than amused.

 

 Fumbling on her bedside table, she takes the first black pen she finds and writes back underneath the first message.

 

  _I’m afraid it is. And sunflowers are great._

 Clarke wants to add something more, but her mind is blank except for the slight pounding reminding her hangover is still a reality and she needs something to eat. Still, she can’t help but glance at the scrawling on her arm every couple of minutes.

 

  _Aren’t you even going to apologize for marking me forever?_

 So, whoever it is isn’t really all that pissed. Clarke smiles.

_Nope. My tattoo is awesome._

_Great, my soulmate is an asshole._

_Nice to meet you too._

  Her arm is half covered in notes when she finally gets around to making some blueberry pancakes and she finds out it’s one of her favorite things ever.

 

 

   3. **Whether you know it or not**

 

“At least tell me what it is.” Octavia all but demands, eyes narrowed.

 

 Bellamy’s almost wishing his shift at the Grounders wasn’t so slow, lest he’d be busy and his sister wouldn’t be bugging him relentlessly about the goddamned tattoo that appeared on his shoulder two nights before. Unfortunately, the coffee shop is practically empty and Octavia refuses to be ignored, so this day was clearly not working in his favor already.

 

“It can’t be that bad, can it?”

 

“Give up, O, I’m not telling you.”

 

“You know my soulmate is a tattoo artist, right? A fucking good one at that, by the way. If you really hated it so much, he can fix it for you.”

 

“Yeah, having your _way too old for you_ soulmate cover my soulmate’s tattoo is exactly what I need.” He looks at his sister, unimpressed. “Leave it alone.”

 

“Fine. See if I try to help you again.” She huffs and stalks away with the cinnamon latte he gave her. Bellamy’s not worried, though, he’s not optimistic enough to think she won’t come back in a few minutes.

 

 It’s not that he hated the tattoo. He’d admit – if a little begrudgingly – that the art was beautiful and it probably didn’t look bad on the girl (Bellamy’s almost positive his soulmate is a girl after their conversation the day before), but he didn’t like knowing there was something on his skin forever and he didn’t get any say in it.

 

 (Even if it is kinda nice to have a constant reminder on his body of his soulmate. Just a little.)

 

“Hm, excuse me?”

 

 Bellamy turns around, startled, at the sound of the girl’s voice.

 

“Sorry, I was distracted.” He immediately recognizes the bright blue eyes staring back at him with a somewhat amused glint. “Oh, it’s you.”

 

“Don’t sound too excited, it might go straight to my head.” Clarke’s still looking at him like that and it makes his skin tingle somewhat.

 

“It’s always good to see you, princess.” He smirks when she merely arches one eyebrow. “What can I do for you today?”

 

“The usual, please.”

 

“You know,” he starts, leaving his place at the cashier. “For someone who’s supposed to hate me, you come here an awful lot when I’m working.”

 

“You know, for someone who’s such an ass, you make really good frappuccinos.” It was her turn to smirk and Bellamy swallowed a chuckle. He could call for Fox, who was officially the barista today, but he takes a strange pride in knowing Clarke Griffin loves his coffee. “I can hate you while I watch you prepare my drink, that’s ok with me.”

 

“Good to know.” They fall silent, Bellamy working expertly the coffee machines and Clarke with her eyes trained on a book, until he comes back to the counter, holding a tall cup topped with a generous layer of whipped cream. “Here you go.”

 

 He meets her eyes, smug, and Clarke mock glares at him.

 

 “Thanks, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

 

 Bellamy just rolls his eyes, but then he notices there is a $10 bill on the tip jar that wasn’t there before.

 

 He narrows his eyes at it and glares pointedly at the girl, who, in turn, just smiled innocently.

 

“I don’t have a clue why you’re scowling at the tip jar, but I swear I have nothing to do with it.”

 

“Am I supposed to believe that?”

 

“Nope.” She turns on her heels.

 

“Bye, princess.”

 

“Bye, asshole.”

 

 As soon as Clarke left, he turns to his sister, whose eyes are trained on him with a calculating look.

 

“Were you flirting with Clarke?”

 

“Are you on a first name basis with Clarke?”

 

“Of course I am, she’s my soulmate’s best friend. She’s also pretty cool.” Bellamy snorted.

 

“She’s a pain.”

 

 Octavia just grins like the cat that got the canary.

 

“I’d tease you mercilessly, but I guess you weren’t flirting with her. You’ve got a soulmate after all.” And, without missing a beat, “Which, by the way, reminds me to ask: what’s that tattoo again?”

 

“ _Octavia…_ ”

 

   4. **I’d name every galaxy after you**

 

“Who’s Octavia?” Raven asks, drawing Clarke’s attention from the humongous text book in front of her. “Did we get a new pet I’m not aware of?”

 

“I’m sorry, what?”

 

“Octavia.” Raven repeats. Clarke still stares at her blankly. “You know, the name on your arm, Clarke. The one you’re worried about feeding.”

 

“What the fuck?” She looks down and, sure enough, there it is, what seems to be a small grocery list and, right underneath it, **DO NOT LET OCTAVIA STARVE** in the now familiar huge black letters and three firm lines underlining it. Obviously her soulmate’s doing, since she wasn’t the one to put it there.

 

“Oh… That’s –” She clears her throat. “That’s my soulmate.”

 

“Your _what?!_ ” Raven cuts the distance between them in three determinate strides, nevermind her bum leg, and grabs Clarke’s arm to inspect it. “Since when have you been able to do it?”

 

“A few days.” Clarke sighs. She loves Raven, they live together and are best friends, but this isn’t something she wants to share with the dark haired girl. Not since she’s involved in why Raven doesn’t write anything on her skin. It was never Clarke’s fault – Finn, Raven’s soulmate, was a cheater and a liar, and that was it – but it was still a sore topic for everyone.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Clarke raises her eyes to meet Raven’s and is met with a serious, borderline hurt look from the other girl. “I didn’t want you to never find your soulmate because mine’s a douchebag, Clarke. You’re my friend and I love you, I want you to be happy.”

 

“I know, Rave.”

 

“Good. So assuming this stupidity’s over, tell me about him. Or is it a her?”

 

“I don’t really know.”

 

“Why? Ask them, dumbass!” She finds the black marker Clarke has taken to leave on her bedside table and throws it in the blonde’s direction.

 

“This is my finals week, Raven, it’s already messy enough without dragging soulmate business into it.” Clarke points to her books scattered all over the table. “My bio final will be a fucking _nightmare_ and like half my art classes are requiring a piece when I barely have time to sleep, let alone paint.”

 

“I told you the night class with the kids would be too much, but you never listen.”

 

 Clarke simply throws the marker back, but Raven catches it with annoying ease and laughs.

 

“Seriously, this is your soulmate. You _want_ to meet them, remember?”

 

“Yeah. Maybe.”

 

 Raven’s face sobers again.

 

“It’s not going to be like Finn, Clarke.” Clarke looks away from her because the pained shadows in her best friend’s eyes are too much, but nods nonetheless. “And if it is, I’ll beat the shit out of them. We get married later and that’s it. Problem solved.”

 

 That cracks her and Clarke tosses her head back and laughs.

 

“Sounds like a plan.”

 

 Hours later, though, she still can’t keep it out of her mind. Octavia, that is. She is so distracted that, when she hits the grocery store, she ends up buying almond milk and peanut butter – two things that were on the list – and Clarke _hates_ peanut butter.

 

 It is just… Octavia is not a very common name.

 

 In fact, she only knows one Octavia. Lincoln’s soulmate’s name is Octavia.

 

 Of course it was extremely farfetched – Octavia could be the name of literally anyone or anything in her soulmate’s life, even a pet, like Raven suggested. But it is a curious coincidence and she can’t stop thinking about it.

 

 Later that night, a new list appears on her arm, right where the grocery list was before.

 

_Diana_

_Cassiopeia_

_Andromeda_

_Venus_

_Juno_

 

 She just stares at it at first.

 

 Of course her soulmate would be some kind of huge dork.

 

 Clarke found the marker she and Raven were throwing around earlier and wrote back, even though the list was very clearly not meant for her.

 

  _Is this a list of names to our future kids? Also, who the fuck is Cassiopeia?_

 Her heart is speeding up more than Clarke thinks it’s reasonable but. It’s her soulmate. And Raven was right, it doesn’t have to be like Finn.

 

  _Please tell me you’re not the type that jumps straight to kids. How many kids do you have already?_

And then:

 

  _And how do you not know who Cassiopeia is? Google is your friend._

 

 Clarke opens her laptop, never one to back down from a challenge, and makes a quick search. She gets the basics of who Cassiopeia was – Queen of Aethiopia, mother of Andromeda – and that there’s actually more than one Cassiopeia in greek mythology, but what really gets her attention are the paintings. It’s classical style, of course, and not her favorite movement from all times, but they are gorgeous.

 

  _Are you ogling a dead greek queen?_

 

 The answer is almost immediate, like her soulmate is sitting on his bed staring at his arm with a pen at the ready, just like her. It does funny things to her stomach.

 

  _Maybe. Or maybe I’m just writing my thesis. I’m a classics grad student._

 

  _Greek mythology kink, noted. I think I could make that work_.

 

  _I’m finally seeing why you’re my soulmate_.

 

  _Decided I’m not an asshole anymore? Or obsessed with kids?_

 

  _Not yet, but I can work with asshole. I’ve been called one once or twice before too. No kids, though._

 

 A giggle breaks through her even though she’s biting her lips to keep herself from grinning like an idiot.

 

  _I’ll stop distracting you from your thesis. I have finals to study for as well._

  _Damn it. Talk to you later, soulmate._

 

 Seeing the word written with his calligraphy on her skin makes her hot all over. Clarke’s having a hard time understanding how someone she never met could make her feel like this with just a handful of words.

 

 (Ok, maybe more than a handful, there’s hardly any space left at her arm and they moved to their stomachs.)

 

 She really did try to go back to study, but all her books about bones, organs and veins weren’t enough to keep her mind away. So, instead, Clarke grabs her brushes and a few paints and sets about painting a sketchy version of Andromeda, by Edward Poynter, on her thigh.

 

 It looks pretty good and she’s feeling weirdly satisfied until a note appeared on her other leg:

 

  _This is definitely not helping me study._

 

 Clarke feels suddenly taken aback and angry in quick succession, but the note’s soon followed by a second one.

 

  _But fuck, this is so awesome._

 

 She takes a deep relieved breath she didn’t know she was holding.

 

  _Go back to Andromeda, dork._

 

  _But she’s not my soulmate, is she?_

 

   5. **Until the red strings of fate brings you home**

 

 Bellamy Blake thinks his luck might be looking up.

 

 For starters, he’s not late, which is a miracle in and of itself – when you’re trying to take care of a sixteen year old, get a major and work two part time jobs on top of that, being late is an actual constant. Even more so, he realized he paid the last of this month’s bills, has enough to buy maybe bread and a few vegetables later and he has an incredible Fenix drawing on his right arm, complete with bright orange fire wings and golden eyes.

 

 (His soulmate has been drawing mythological creatures and characters on his skin, he’s a goner.)

 

 Bellamy only realizes that no, he’s still the same guy and the universe still hates his guts when he arrives to his classroom and spots a familiar, amazing Fenix – which should maybe count as lucky, some people spend their whole lives without meeting their soulmates and they haven’t even exchanged names yet - not on just anyone’s arm. Of course not.

 

 The bloody thing is on Clarke Griffin’s arm.

 

 He can’t take his eyes off it – and of her, by default – and his mind seems to be stuck in an eternal loop where it simply can’t assimilate that Clarke, of all people, is his soulmate.

 

 Bellamy sits, because it’s not like he can have this conversation (“Hello there, did you notice we’re soulmates?”) in the five minutes before Dante Wallace comes in and starts the class, so he waits.

 

 He’s so dazed by everything he loses three opportunities to correct Wallace’s historical inaccuracies and Clarke glances at him with furrowed brows from her place, like she’s genuinely concerned he’s keeping quiet through it and is maybe considering if he’s sick. Bellamy shrugs like it’s no big deal and her frown deepens, but truth is, bright blue eyes boring into his are all he can concentrate on – _soulmate, soulmate, soulmate._

 

 Bellamy gets so lost in his own thoughts, he nearly jumps out of his skin when Professor Dante orders them to pair up for the next assignment and Clarke makes a beeline to him, plopping by his side, suspicious look firmly in place.

 

“Are you sick or something?”

 

“Not that I know of. Looking for someone to play doctor with, princess?” He smirks because he doesn’t know how not to and wants to kick himself for it, but Clarke’s frown clears a little and Bellamy figures that’s a good thing.

 

“Ok, that sounds more like you. You got me really worried you were dying when you let Dante get away with not one, but _two_ white privileged historical inaccuracies.” He chuckles and Clarke gives him a small smile that makes his heart rate increase. It feels stupidly like a crush and, sure, maybe he had noticed he wasn’t indifferent to her before, but having her so close now, phoenix bright and gorgeous in her arm exactly like in his, was more than he ever bargained for. “So, wanna do this or not?”

 

“Sure.” They set about working and it doesn’t take long for him to settle down into a familiar pattern, because truth is they work great together even if they argue ninety percent of the time.

 

“Bellamy, don’t talk about feminism like you know it better – you’re mansplaining.” She calls him out cheekily when he points out something she got wrong.

 

“I’m not – You were wrong about the context of the _year_ – Fuck, there’s no way I win this, is there?”

 

“Absolutely not.” Clarke says defiantly and Bellamy has to duck his head to hide the grin spreading.

 

 Bellamy realizes nowadays their bickering is mostly friendly and, of course, sometimes they get too passionate about something and everyone thinks they’re going to rip each other’s throats off, but it’s been a solid year since he’s been really angry at her. Seeing the mischievous glint in her eyes, Bellamy thinks it might be the same for her and suddenly he doesn’t know how he didn’t saw that coming before.

 

 When they first met was because he hooked up with a on-rebound-spree Raven once and both ended up agreeing they were better as friends, so she invited him to the bar on a Friday. At first it didn’t look so bad – Clarke was gorgeous after all, but it wasn’t even ten minutes before she was biting his head off. Mostly because everything about Clarke screamed upper class at the time and _princess_ left his lips in a sneer before he thought twice about it.

 

 By the time he realized he was wrong about her, she was too busy calling him out on every single thing he did wrong and he was accusing her of running from her emotional problems because she was a spoiled rich girl and they were a mess.

 

 Bellamy doesn’t know how they morphed from that to where they were now - that being casual acquaintances who could tease each other comfortably, but still trusted each other when push came to shove, because they were always on the same page when it really mattered. That and soulmates. Maybe it was trivia night with the guys every Thursday.

 

 The class is almost over and they hand their paper to Professor Wallace with contented smiles and identical challenging looks plastered across their faces. Dante looks between them and shakes his head, but there’s a slight smile tugging on his mouth.

 

“So,” Clarke begins, a bit hesitantly, when they’re packing their stuff. “Your sister’s name is Octavia, right?”

 

“Yeah, why?”

 

“Nothing. I just – had kind of a coincidence with an Octavia this week.” Bellamy raises one eyebrow, clearly amused.

 

“Kind of a coincidence with an Octavia? That doesn’t sound weird at all.”

 

“I s’ppose so.” Her cheeks are slightly flushed and Bellamy’s debating how to bring up their current predicament when she gets up sharply. “I’ve got to go. See you on Thursday, right?”

 

“Clarke, wait.”  He stands up as well, satchel already slung over his shoulder. “I’ll go with you.”

 

 She merely nods, staring ahead, and they go out in silence, strides in sync.

 

“Are you going to keep following me around or did you want something?” Clarke asks, looking more composed when they reach the outsides of the building.

 

“I want something.”

 

 She waits a beat. When nothing comes, she prompts:

 

“Is it the pleasure of my company?”

 

“Kind of.” Bellamy smirks again. “Like, later. Over dinner.”

 

 Clarke looks like she’s been struck by lightning.

 

“I was planning to say something before that, actually, it just slipped out—”

 

“Bellamy,” she looks really uncomfortable and it’s like a punch in the gut. “I can’t. It’s not really that I don’t want it, but I just – Seriously, you have the _worst_ timing!”

 

“There was ever a good timing? When was that?” Her cheeks flushed again and her eyes darted to anything but his face. “Clarke.” His calling is sufficient to make her face him and he smiles. “I really wanted to talk about something over dinner.”

 

“Ok.” She takes a deep breath and steels herself, as if convincing herself she can handle this. “About what?”

 

“About how I don’t ogle dead Greek queens. At least not frequently.”

 

 Her mouth hangs open and Bellamy waits, heart beating frantically against his chest.

 

“How…?”

 

“Nice phoenix over there.” He motions to her arm and she looks down, confirming her painting is still there, and then at his arm, covered by his jacket. “I’m not so sure about the sunflowers, though.”

 

“Oh my God.”

 

“Yeah, that sounds enthusiastic. Thanks, really.”

 

 The way he’s looking at her is too much and Clarke laughs, the sound breathless, relieved and perfect.

 

“I’m in.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Dinner. I’m in.”

 

  1. **The red strings of fate will always lead you home.**



 

 Their first dinner – first date - was an odd mix of familiar banter and exciting novelty and, somewhere along the night, Clarke really began to believe maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. This whole soulmate thing.

 

“Figures my soulmate wouldn’t be _just_ a nerd, it had to be the fucking _alpha_ nerd.”

 

“Figures my soulmate would be an asshole who got me inked without even asking first.”

 

“Hey, that’s not fair, I didn’t _know_ it would show up on you!”

 

“That doesn’t change the fact that –” Bellamy never got to finish his sentence, because Clarke pressed her lips against his and kissing her was apparently the one thing that was better than riling her up. Clarke was a big fan.

 

“I’m in way over my head, aren’t I?” He murmured against her skin when they finally broke apart and she giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

 

“I think you’ll figure it out.”

 

“Yeah, I think I will.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for the lovely opportunity for this, and I hope the exchange has been a huge success!
> 
> All my love,
> 
> Your secret author.


End file.
